The Early Years
by Lactuca
Summary: A young Harry is taken to Hogwarts for his protection after a certain Azkaban escapee makes it out slightly ahead of JKR’s schedule. WIP. AU
1. Chapter 1: Routine

The Early Years

Disclaimer: Not mine. As if you didn't know.

Summary: A young Harry is taken to Hogwarts for his protection after a certain Azkaban escapee makes it out slightly ahead of JKR's schedule. WIP

Notes: Yeah, yeah, it has been done before. But there are currently 149293 stories in the HP section, so lets face it, what hasn't?

I'm not sure about pear drops, they may be a British thing, or different overseas, but in case anyone isn't familiar with them they're a rather evil little sweet. The taste bears no resemblance to any pears I've ever had, and I am extremely fond of them.

The timeline's a little iffy in my head, as is the general plotline of this work, but Harry's around seven or eight. If he seems older it's best to chalk it up to maturity through suffering rather than my lack of experience with children.

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Albus Dumbledore, widely recognised as the most powerful wizard currently alive, was at a slight loss. The school year was over, the students had gone home and he had yet to receive a single angry letter from any of their parents. It was all rather dull really.

Absent mindedly, Dumbledore placed a pear drop in his mouth. A mix up at the shop had led to him being sent these instead of his usual lemon flavour. Another batch were being sent by the extremely apologetic and confused man at the desk, who had assured him that these were just as good, but so far he felt as though he were ingesting varnish of some kind. Despite the quiet, sunny day he had a sense of unease and an odd sensation in his stomach that he feared had more to it than any solvents he might have ingested.

Were Albus Dumbledore the kind of man to be in a bad mood one might have surfaced, but thankfully he was not. Instead he tipped back his chair and contemplated transfiguring the supposedly pear flavoured sweets into his favourite lemon. Transfigured or conjured food was all very impressive when unexpected guests came round, but it never had quite the same flavour as the real thing.

The sudden whooshing noise that came from the fireplace, a signal of an incoming floo call, would have caused a lesser man to unbalance from this position, but Albus simply rocked his chair back forward and looked towards the fireplace, where the mangled face of one of his oldest friends Alastor Moody was sitting, looking characteristically grumpy.

"Alastor!" called Dumbledore cheerfully, "I don't often have this pleasure. Bad News I take it?"

"Very," grunted the head, "There's been a break out from Azkaban."

Almost all thoughts of sweets vanishing from his mind Dumbledore replied, "Who? How? When?"

"As far as we know, several days ago," was the curt reply.

Dumbledore managed somehow not to look too shocked, but even for him it was a strain, "Several days ago Alastor? Why is this the first I'm hearing if it?"

"First we're all hearing of it. It was actually more of a swap than a break out, and a definite inside job. Barty Crouch's mother was found unconscious in his cell with a large amount of Polyjuice Potion. Forgot to take it on the hour. Crouch Senior is being hauled in for questioning as we speak. He and his wife had been allowed a visit, seeing as how they're such important upstanding Ministry figures," finished Moody with a heavy amount of sarcasm.

"What is being done to find Barty Crouch?"

"Not enough!" barked Moody's head, "You know Fudge. He's got so many people assigned to covering this up and spinning it so it's not the ministry's fault that we've got about half the men we need. As it is we've got a few people underground, checking out the latest rumoured whereabouts of You-Know-Who, we're covering the international floo and apparition ports. As if he couldn't have been all the way to Timbuctoo and back again already. We know he's probably got Polyjuice, so there's a mandatory one hour 'detox' period for anyone leaving the country, lot of complaints about that one. We're also checking out Crouch Senior's Department and house." The head grew even more serious, "Albus, this scum is possibly one of the few truly loyal Death Eaters out there, no matter the show he put on at his trial, and one loyal Death Eater is all it will take to destabilise this country."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Alastor?" replied Albus Dumbledore, just as gravely.

"Plenty. One priority is talking to that dunderhead we've got as minister. He might listen to you Albus. We need more men. But the real reason I'm here isn't that. If this bastard is going to attempt any kind of resurrection, or even a spot of revenge, there's one very likely target. The one he couldn't quite get to on his last fact-finding mission, and now old enough to torture information out of."

"Harry Potter," surmised Dumbledore, correctly, as it happened.

"Right. And you're the one who's in charge of his protection. Best to check up on him. I'll even see if I can spare a few guards, if you can get me some men from Fudge."

"Blackmail, Alastor?" said Dumbledore, a hint of amusement in his tone despite the dire situation, "I'll see what I can do about that."

Alastor Moody disappeared with a curt farewell and after briefly informing a few people that he would be at the Ministry that day and popping another Pear Drop, which were definitely growing on him, into his mouth, Dumbledore too vanished into the flames.

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It was an ordinary day in the life of seven year old Harry Potter. He hadn't been to school in a few months since a teacher, suspicious of his skeletal frame and baggy, concealing clothes, had made a "friendly" call to the Dursley's house to talk about him. Given that the school part of the the day, despite Dudley's bullying and his lack of friends, had been the most restful, and Harry's favourite, he wasn't very happy about this. The teacher in question had been young and idealistic, hadn't been around long enough to hear about the last teacher Uncle Vernon had somehow managed to get fired.

All things considered, even if she hadn't known about the one who got fired, actually calling the house had been an exceptionally stupid thing to do. Harry couldn't quite bring himself to be angry with her though, she'd had good intentions towards him, which very few other people ever did. Indeed, as Uncle Vernon had said, or bellowed to be completely accurate, it was mostly his fault for being so thin and pale and demanding. A part of Harry's mind had wondered idly how he was supposed to get any flesh or colour sitting in a dark cupboard without food. He was pretty sure Dudley got his from eating, for example. He hadn't voiced this thought to Uncle Vernon however. Experience told him that that would only make things a lot worse.

Instead Harry focused on being as obedient as possible, hoping not to attract any more punishment or reprimand, something that took a great deal of skill when you lived with the Dursleys. At the moment he was weeding the garden, usually one of the more enjoyable chores he had to perform. Currently however his limbs were aching at the sudden use, active after having been dormant for so long, and the sun was beating down on the back of his head, used to the heavy blackness of being locked in. There was always a period of adjustment after a very long imprisonment, a period were all noises and movement made Harry jump and the world seemed unbearably bright and loud and fast to Harry's sluggish brain and body.

At least Dudley wasn't here, there was always an upside.

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Unbeknownst to all these people a cloaked and mysterious figure had already arrived on Privet Drive earlier that week. A cloaked, mysterious, and really completely insane figure with nothing but evil intentions in what was left of his heart. A cloaked figure by the name of Barty Crouch.

As stated before he was quite completely insane, but unfortunately not at all stupid. Through a mixture of luck and cunning Barty Crouch had managed over the past days to somehow bypass most of the initial magical security, along with the secondary, and pretty much all of the tertiary measures as well. It was even a bit easier than he expected. He was well on his way through the last sets of wards as well, almost up to the door and hardly bothering to repress the high-pitched, but nevertheless unnerving sinister chuckle of laughter rising within him when things started to go a bit pear-shaped. Barty Crouch did not yet realise it, but lightning fast connections were already being made, and people across the area being called into action as he blithely alohomora-ed the front door open.


	2. Chapter 2: Adrenaline

Chapter 2: Adrenaline 

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. As if you didn't know.

**Summary**: A young Harry is taken to Hogwarts for his protection after a certain Azkaban escapee makes it out slightly ahead of JKR's schedule. Dumbledore is on the case, but will he be too late? (And no, it's not Sirius)

**Notes : **I doubt that this has been around long enough to gather any kind of fanbase (five whole reviews!!), but just in case anyone out there is sitting on the edge of their seat, longing for the next installment of this high octane drama, I should warn you that I'm in the process of moving. Because of this, real life may well rear its ugly head and do that interfering thing, making an update slightly longer in coming than usual. Not that two chapters is really enough to establish any kind of pattern as far as updates go.

**Notes 2: **Some of you may find Petunia a little OOC here. Ooops? It wasn't meant to go this way, honestly, but I couldn't stop her.

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**Responses**

_Dreamfall_: I'm actually trying very hard not to gush right now. I absolutely love your work! 'Catechism' is such an excellent story and I cannot believe you are reading my humble work! Of course, now I feel the pressure of living up to your standards and fear posting the next part of this story. The bit with Dumbledore and Moody is my favourite as well, I'm glad someone appreciated it. I wish I could say the pear-shaped thing was purposeful but... I'm sure my subconscious knew what it was doing even if I didn't. Typos in stories irritate the hell out of me and I've tried to eradicate them as far as possible, but things often slip through when it's your own work. Though he is one of my favourite characters writing Harry is always very difficult for me, despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that most of the books occur from his perspective. Being in someone's head in a book can actually make it a lot harder to understand them, because you never get a proper perspective on them. Add to this the fact that Harry is a bit younger in this story and we may not be seeing much of his POV in this story.

_Rose_: Thanks! The Dumbledore bit does seem popular. You aren't the only one having trouble seeing where the plot is going.

_LyonsRoar_: Don't worry, Harry won't be at the Dursleys much longer. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, what there is of it.

_Mystical_ _Witch_: I actually didn't realise how much the summary implied Sirius till I'd already posted it, and now it's too late! I wonder if it acts as a deterrent or an encouragement?

_Argaildax, korrd: _Thanks! It's not really soon, but here is an update!

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A cloaked and mysterious figure had already arrived on Privet Drive earlier that week. A cloaked, mysterious, and really completely insane figure with nothing but evil intentions in what was left of his heart. A cloaked figure by the name of Barty Crouch.

As stated before he was quite completely insane, but unfortunately not at all stupid. Through a mixture of luck and cunning Barty Crouch had managed over the past days to somehow bypass most of the initial magical security, along with the secondary, and pretty much all of the tertiary measures as well. It was even a bit easier than he expected. He was well on his way through the last sets of wards as well, almost up to the door and hardly bothering to repress the high-pitched, but nevertheless unnerving sinister chuckle of laughter rising within him when things started to go a bit pear-shaped. Barty Crouch did not yet realise it, but lightning fast connections were already being made, and people across the area being called into action as he blithely alohomora-ed the front door open.

You see, the contents of Number Four Privet Drive were very important to several people, and every effort had been to protect the house with the very latest developments in the house protection field. A highly complex network of trained individuals was on alert twenty-four hours a day, no matter what the weather, to make sure that nothing in Number Four Privet Drive was harmed or removed. In most respects Barty Crouch was not a stupid man, but he did have a tendency to underestimate things that he did not understand. Consequently, when the small rectangular panel with the numbered buttons on the inside wall of Privet Drive's doorway began to flash and emit small beeping noises he simply cast a silencing charm so no-one in the house would hear it and proceeded up the stairs. Not only was Barty Crouch not usually a stupid man, he was quite a strong wizard, and his silencing charms were rather potent. So when the small rectangular panel began just a few minutes later not to just beep, but to peal its little heart out trying to produce what would have been a most dreadful noise, no-one in the house heard that either.

Unfortunately for Barty Crouch, but fortunately for the inhabitants of Number Four Privet Drive, the small rectangular panel was able to do more than just make a nerve-grating noise. When Barty Crouch failed to type in the correct sequence of numbers in the requisite time it immediately alerted its command centre just a few kilometers away, which proceeded with great haste to alert the local police that a break-in was in progress. The local police had been investigating a rash of burglaries in the area for several months, and getting a lot of flack for having let it go on for so long, so when the call came they sprang to attention with a speed atypical of Surrey Police in general. Three squad cars were on their way to Privet Drive within one and a quarter minutes of the distress call and barely three and two fifths of a minute later they were just round the corner on Wisteria Walk, blaring lights illuminating the bedroom of one Mrs. Figg, who woke with a start when one of kneazles jumped on her face.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Barty Crouch was blissfully unaware of the flashing blue lights and sirens barely four and thirteen twentieths of a minute away from him. In fact, he was taking his sweet time mounting the creaky stairs and casting his excellent silencing charms liberally on the floorboards as he went. It would have maximum impact, he knew, if the Boy-Who-Lived went missing silently in the night leaving no-one with a clue where he could have gone or how he could've got there. There were five doors on the upstairs landings of all the identical houses on Privet drive (except for the Sheppards a few doors down whose extension added one extra, ruining the symmetry of the road as Aunt Petunia frequently sniffed) and Barty Crouch had opened only two of them when he heard his first clue that things might not work out to plan. At first the mechanical wailing noise made him freeze in place, hoping that anybody at Number four who was woken by it would just go back to sleep when it passed by. When it did not pass by he lost his calm methodical manner and instead almost slammed the third door he'd opened, this time onto a cluttered storage area, shut and fairly raced down to the next room. By the time the fourth and fifth doors had also been opened, and revealed nothing but a room of hideous china dogs and a fat blonde toddler curled up between his slumbering parents, Barty Crouch was feeling the sharp edges of panic. The two adults did not wake when the sirens stopped outside, nor when Barty Crouch lurched unceremoniously into their room; no doubt the both of them were inured to disturbance due to the explosive snoring that issued from the mouth of the larger muggle. The fat toddler, however, certainly woke up when it was seized roughly and examined for lightning bolt scars. The none too gentle cries of a child did what the sirens could not and jerked the mother swiftly from her sleep. The shrieks she emitted rivaled those that would have been made by the burglar alarm, and even the large muggle awoke. Sensing he needed help, Barty Crouch held the squalling child to his chest and pulled out his wand.

"The Boy!" he barked, "Where is he?"

The sight of the wand caused the mother's cries to take on an even higher pitch and the dog next door began to bark. Stammering, the large muggle had not a moment's sting of conscience in turning his nephew over to the clearly unbalanced wizard before him. "Downstairs! The cupboard!" he replied, "Take him please, just don't harm-". There wasn't time for Vernon to finish his plea before he found his son hurled rather painfully at his head.

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What had started out as a boring, or as Dumbledore now fondly remembered it, relaxing, day was steadily turning into a nightmare. He had only just stumbled out of his fireplace, having spent a grueling few hours at the Ministry getting Fudge to put in place some of the measures Alastor had recommended when a face popped into his fire behind him and spoke in an urgent tone.

"Albus?" it said, "Is that you?"

"Arabella?" he replied, his mind leaping to several nasty conclusions, "Is it Harry? Is everything all-right?"

"I don't know!" came the highly frustrated reply, "Police-cars just pulled up and they won't let me get any closer!"

"I'm on my way," replied Dumbledore, "Just step back a bit please."

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Harry was having one of the strangest days of his short life. He'd had an odd feeling all day, as if someone were about to pounce on him, and had had quite a bit of trouble falling asleep, despite the strenuous (for an eight year old) work he'd been doing all day. He just couldn't settle down. As the night wore on the bad feeling intensified exponentially, as did Harry's acute state of awareness.

He heard then, excruciatingly clearly, when the front door opened to admit someone that could not be his aunt, uncle or cousin, for they were all upstairs. A deep instinct told Harry that this was a bad person and that he should stay as quiet as possible. Despite the strange lack of noise as the bad person climbed the usually creaky stairs and started opening usually squeaky doors Harry could sense almost exactly were he was. The sirens served no purpose but scaring Harry even more. He heard through the thin walls when the man demanded to know where "the boy" was, and recognised this as his label, more frequently used in this house than his name. Dread and terror gripped Harry as he heard the man move far less silently back down the stairs. He only knew that he wanted, more than he had wanted anything for a long time, for the door to his cupboard to remain shut.

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Once he reached the bottom of the stairs Barty Crouch wasted several precious seconds looking frantically around for a cupboard in the kitchen, missing the one under the stairs, that happened to be right behind him. That was his first bit of bad luck, or his second if you count the muggle alarm. The next setback came when the door of the cupboard, once he had spotted it, refused, for some unknown reason, to respond to any of the unlocking charms, instead needing to be rather unsubtly blasted into smithereens. Barty Crouch then found himself strangely unable to _find_ Harry in the cupboard, despite the fact that it was by any standards, very small, and that Harry appeared to zoom out from straight in front of him when Barty Crouch finally yelled "Accio Harry Potter!". Once he'd picked up the squirming boy, he had another bit of trouble when Harry's teeth bit into his arm and Harry's foot simultaneously made contact with a very sensitive part of his anatomy, causing Barty Crouch to inadvertently drop him. It was at this precise moment, when Barty Crouch's fingers were mere millimeters away from reconnecting with soft Harry Potter flesh that Dumbledore finally exploded through the door, reflexively blasting Barty Crouch away from the child so that he went sailing through the air and into the next room. Luckily, for Barty Crouch at least, he landed on the sofa, and managed to recover almost immediately from the soft landing, sprinting away and disappearing in the moments Dumbledore was briefly distracted by checking Harry's well being.

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After all the waiting and build up the night was actually something of an anti-climax for both Harry and Dumbledore. Neither was particularly upset by this, though Dumbledore did wish that Crouch could have been captured outright. He had dealt with the muggle police and sent them on their way with memories of a very large dog setting off the alarms before any of the Dursleys dared to venture down the stairs to see what had become of their home. If Dumbledore hadn't known better he would have sworn that Vernon Dursley looked almost disappointed to see little Harry standing silently next to the older wizard, though he was clearly unharmed.

"There's no need to worry. Harry is all right," placated Dumbledore, mistaking Petunia Dursleys sour expression as she too appeared, clutching her son. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid that this is not quite the end of the disruption. For Harry's safety, as well as your own, I am going to have to remove him for a short while to a more secure place."

Vernon actually looked like he was going to protest for a second. He was truthfully thinking of the weeding that still hadn't been done, but Dumbledore, despite his reputation for omniscience, once again mistook the Dursley's reactions for concern. "He will be quite safe," he assured them.

It was Petunia who spoke up next, "What about us?" she asked, "That bastard threatened my son."

"Not to fear Mrs. Dursley," replied Dumbledore courteously, "The wards will be replaced, stronger than before, and without Harry inside his enemies will not think to go to the trouble of breaking them."

"Then take him!" almost shrieked Petunia, "I mean, if it will keep him safe," she amended seeing Dumbledore's look and directing a sickly simpering smile at her nephew, who blinked at her in hidden surprise and slight horror. Vernon turned to her with a strange noise, but Petunia chose that moment to descend to the same stair as him and accidentally put her foot down on his.

Shock, thought Dumbledore. Everyone reacts in different ways to stress. "Perhaps you wish to say goodbye to Harry? We must leave at once."

Once again, Vernon tried to speak. This time he was once again interrupted by having his son thrust in his face, though this time by his wife. "Put Dudley back to bed dear," said Petunia in a voice that brooked no argument. Bewildered, her husband complied.

Seeing that Harry was starting to shiver in his pyjamas, Dumbledore turned again to Petunia. "Would it be too much trouble to ask you to pack a few of Harry's things to take with him?". Petunia pursed her lips at this, but soon gave another sickly smile. "Of course," she simpered. "Be right back."

As she too disappeared up the stairs, Dumbledore's attention was once again left to focus on Harry. Seeing the boy looking so somber and downcast, Dumbledore did the only thing he could think of that all children like and offered him a sweet. "Pear Drop Harry?" he enquired, "They seem a little odd at first, but they are strangely very addictive."

Harry took the sweet, but did not eat it, turning it over in his hand and examining it quietly.

"Are you alright Harry?" asked Albus with genuine concern after several moments of this, "Only, you seem rather preoccupied with that sweet. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

Timidly, Harry looked up at him, not used to offering up opinions, "It just doesn't feel right, sir," he murmured. Harry had actually had some Pear Drops before, and really liked them. Dudley hadn't, which is how Harry had come to find them strewn on the corridor floor.

"How so my child?"

"It's just... wrong, sir. I don't know... like, like that man was. It just has a bad feeling, sir, I'm sorry." Harry looked down again, perhaps remembering what the Dursleys might have done if he'd mentioned something as seemingly nonsensical as a bad feeling.

Dumbledore frowned, looking thoughtful and a wee bit puzzled. Crouching down to the same level as Harry he gently disengaged the pear drop from his hand and spoke quietly and kindly in reply, "Well then Harry, we shall just have to get you one that does not."

It did not take long for Petunia to reappear with a small bag of clothes that she grudgingly handed to the headmaster. Vernon didn't appear again, but Petunia did bestow a very brief hug on a silent Harry upon Dumbledore's reminder that she wouldn't see her nephew for a while, unable to hide a grimace as she did so, no doubt one of pent-up emotion. Goodbyes are often hard reflected the uncharacteristically obtuse Headmaster as he and Harry Apparated away.

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A knock sounded on Dumbledore's door and a voice called "Albus?"

"Come in Severus," came the reply from Dumbledore and a tall, black clad man entered the room carrying a familiar paper bag that he placed on the desk before the Headmaster, "Did you find anything of interest?"

Had Harry been an acquaintance of Severus Snape, he would have realised that he was actually looking rather flustered. As it was he merely noted that he felt fairly powerful and had a very stern way about him, rather like his Aunt. Not one to cross.

"I did Albus, I found a great deal. I take it you've eaten some of these?" he said in an unmistakably agitated tone.

"Yes, it's not too serious is it? I haven't felt any adverse affects."

"You wouldn't. Yet." came the short reply, "How long and how many?"

"A day and a half, and around seven."

The man Severus nearly slumped in relief. "We're all right then. Seven I can counteract." He pulled a vial from an invisible pocket in his robes and handed it to Dumbledore, "But it's best to do it as fast a possible."

Looking slightly amused at the aura of mother hen the usually severe man in front of him was currently projecting Dumbledore complied.

"It was a poison, of course," Severus went on, taking a seat now that he was satisfied that the vial had been drunk, "A particularly insidious one designed not to kill outright, but to slowly suppress the magical power of the one ingesting it at a rate that is not normally noticeable. It is highly addictive after the first few doses, and has no obvious side effects, but is rarely used because it has an incredibly strong flavour that is hard to hide, and a very easily brewed antidote. If you had not brought it to my attention you would have been a squib within the year. Another couple of days and you would have been hopelessly addicted. Especially at the rate you consume those foolish muggle confections," he added with a sniff of obvious contempt. "I am very curious who would give this to you and just how you spotted it Albus, it goes against everything I know about the potion."

"I know who the culprit was, and I didn't spot it," answered Dumbledore, "Someone else told me that there was something odd about them. I believe they described it as a 'bad feeling'."

"A bad feeling?" Severus looked puzzled then excited, "But Albus, the only way that would be possible is if the person had the power to sense magic. That's a very rare gift."

"One young Harry here is clearly in possession of."

At Dumbledore's comment the man finally noticed Harry behind him. "Harry... Potter?" he sneered, in the same tone you'd use to enquire after the man who'd massacred your family and burnt down your house with all your worldly possessions and your pet kneazle inside.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore, a hint of warning in his tone, "Harry, this is Professor Snape. He teaches Potions here at Hogwarts."

"Why is he here?" asked Snape, effectively blanking Harry's existence. "I thought he was to be kept secluded."

"His relatives house is no longer safe for him. The protections there are not adequate. Especially," sighed Dumbledore, "With Barty Crouch on the loose."

"The Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation?" Snape raised an eyebrow, "Is he a threat?"

"No," said Dumbledore wearily, "His son the Death Eater." At Snape's start he lifted a placating hand and continued, "Yes, I know he is supposed to be in Azkaban, but he escaped, apparently with his parent's help, some days ago. His mother took his place and some Polyjuice Potion and it has only just been found out. He sent the pear drops and earlier attacked Harry's house. I was checking the area and stopped him, but he escaped. He is still at large, and will probably attempt to reach his former master."

Snape was looking unnaturally pale at this information, but still managed to appear contemptuous as he spoke again, "I thought Potter's house was protected even more strongly than this place. By 'the bonds of his mother's love'." He said the last part with the utmost disgust.

"So it was supposed to be. But the wards were not as strong as I would have hoped. I'm still working on what the root cause could have been." Someone has failed in their duty, he added in his head, and I fear it may well be me.

The tone of Dumbledore's voice actually seemed to silence the Potions Master, who threw a quizzical look at a motionless Harry before Dumbledore rose, and taking Harry's hand, informed him that they were going to go to the hospital wing, where Harry would have to sleep until they figured something else out.


End file.
